


The Older I Get

by CheshireXIII



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, M/M, OOC Tony, OOC steve, Prompt Fic, Songfic, first time fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4422176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireXIII/pseuds/CheshireXIII
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Tony had a pretty bad break up in college. Now, ten years later, Steve is doing an art gallery show and Tony finds out about it.<br/>Based on a FB song prompt to "Older I Get" by Skillet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Older I Get

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing anything Avengers, so everyone is OoC. On the other hand, this is also the first thing I've wrote in nearly two years, so its rusty. Non beta'd and rusty. i'm sorry.

The Older I Get

i

They had met in college. At twenty-two and twenty-four, what had started out as a rough encounter turned into a great friendship. It was no surprise to any one when they'd announced their relationship a year later.

And yet, it had somehow gone so wrong.

Tony Stark was a brilliant engineer, already on a mountain of a good name and fortune. He'd inherited Stark Industries at the tender age of seventeen, but instead of it falling into ruin or falling period, he had been able to build it up. Everyone knew who he was, just as the older generation knew his father, Howard Stark Jr.

Steve Rogers, on the other hand, was a nobody. New York native, orphaned at a young age, he was on a football scholarship at Shield Academy, but was majoring in Art. Where Tony could make machines talk and understand gears and wires and bolts, Steve was able to paint the heavens. His teachers referred to him as the new DaVinci. His talent was outstanding.

When they had become lovers, Steve knew it wouldn't be _easy_. Tony was arrogant, sometimes very rude, argumentative and downright stubborn. He had been a playboy in their friendship, and a becoming alcoholic. Steve knew it wouldn't be easy, but he hadn't wanted easy, he'd wanted _worth it_. Tony couldn't stay what he expected. He just knew that he wanted Steve, with his beautiful smile and bright eyes and his wholly goodness. He wanted that sweetness. No one had ever looked at him like the blonde did, like he wasn't just a rich boy with a powerful name. No one had wanted him for him.

Neither one of them knew when it started, the arguments and anger. They couldn't pinpoint when they started staying away from each other longer, when they stopped touching each other so affectionately, when their words got sharper and more cruel. The crux came one night after finals, though. Tony had been out all night partying, and came back to the dorm they shared so sloshed he couldn't even stand up straight. Steve had taken one look at him and make a barbed comment and it took off from there into full blown yelling. Tony remembered the swing to Steve's jaw, and the blonde's surprised and hurt face before his vision went black. He remembered waking up long enough to hear Steve telling him he was through with the partying, with the alcohol and cleaning up Tony's messes.

“Oh, why don't you just fuck off already? Mister 'I'm-always-perfect', newsflash, Rogers, no one cares. You think I can't have another body in this bed by tomorrow night?” He slurred out, head flopping back against a chair. At some point he'd ended up on the floor.

Steve stared down at him, his normally expressive face completely blank. “Was I just a body to warm your bed?” He asked, voice soft and giving nothing away.

Tony had scoffed and unsteadily made his way to his feet. “What does it matter? We both know how this'll end, just like everything else.” He wobbled and caught himself on the chair. “I'm not gonna change just cause you can't stand me having a _life_ , instead of being curled up in a damn room painting all the time.”

Blue eyes had glared at him, and the lips he loved kissing before were turned down in a scowl. “You call this a life? Drunk all the time? Then, yeah, I don't want that.” With a huff, Steve had turned away from him and went to their closet, grabbing out a duffel bag. In record time, he had all his things packed up and was heading for the door.

“Oh look, he's leaving,” Tony muttered in a sarcastic drawl. Steve paused, door open, and looked back.

“Yeah, Tony, I'm leaving. I'm tired of this. I'm not like them, I’m not putting up with your shit.”

“I never asked you to.”

“You never had to. You just thought I would. I want something more than that.”

The door slammed behind him and Tony remembered thinking he'd be back in the morning, just like always. Only he wasn't. And in the morning, in the midst of his hangover, Tony felt the sting of regret before it left, along with the rest of his stomach. He didn't see Steve that day, or the next. He didn't see him that week, or the upcoming weeks. The blonde had disappeared in the night, and hadn't shown up during the summer or the next semester. Tony slept his way through the campus population like he'd done before Steve, and slowly began forgetting about the blonde man. He knew his other friends had kept in touch with him. Natasha, especially, if the way she reacted around him sometimes. He never asked, though. Tony convinced himself he didn't care, _he didn't, damn't._ Instead, he continued to build his family business, rising farther than his father ever had. In the coming years, Steve Rogers was a vague memory, a blissful bitterness he washed away with expensive liquor and hoards of women.

All good things must come to an end.

ii

Tony had kept his friendships from collage, Clint, Natasha and Bruce. They had weekly dinners and once a month poker games. No one ever mentioned Steve during these, and it was an unspoken rule not to reminisce too hard of the old days, even if it had been almost ten years ago. Sitting around the table of an upscale Italian restaurant, Tony felt his gut clench. He knew something was about to happen. A bing sounded, and Natasha glanced at her phone, a soft grin on her face at whatever she read. Clint leaned over to read it, chuckling afterwards.

“What?” Tony asked, brow raised.

The two shared a glance before the redhead sat her phone down. “Nothing,” she replied smoothly. On the other side, Bruce snorted and Tony felt his brow quirk higher.

“C'mon, what's up?” Another bing sounded, this time Bruce picking up his phone. The brunette 'hmm'ed and glanced at the two before clicking a few buttons and sliding his phone to Tony.

_New art gallery opening this weekend, featuring famous designer Steven Rogers' highly anticipated art pieces. Steven Rogers is better known in the European and English areas for his beautifully crafted furniture and home decors. While it is well known the designer was an avid artist, none of his personal creations have ever been displayed before. We here at_ International Art _are excited to see what the former military man has had locked away._

“Military? What do you mean, military? Steve was all about peace.” Tony stated, staring at the trio with a scowl. He slid the phone back to Bruce and grabbed his glass of Chardonnay.

Natasha leaned back casually, arms crossed over her chest. “He joined the Army. Then he came home.”

“That's it? Really?”

“He was honorably discharged,” Bruce muttered, “A bomb went off near him and the shrapnel caught his chest.”

Tony would never admit his throat tightening. “He saved four men,” Clint said around chewing his food. “They weren't sure he'd live though. A piece of shrapnel got too close to his heart. He had to wear some kind of device for a while, but they were able to operate a few months later and get it out completely.”

“W-why,” the brunette coughed, “Why didn't anyone tell me?” Natasha gave him a look and Tony knew exactly why they didn't tell him. Why would they?

Fiddling with his silverware, he looked down. Ten years later, and Tony could agree that their parting was his fault. He knew, now, that Steve had been right; drinking and partying wasn't much of a life. He still drank, but more socially than anything else and while he hosted parties frequently, it was nothing like college. Tony had grown up.

“I'm going.”

“That's not a good idea,” “Uh...” “Why?” They all said in unison and he smiled before focusing on Natasha's question.

“I think I owe him an apology,” He said softly. He wasn't sure whether that was a smirk, or a shark's grin on her face, either way the redhead never took her eyes off him.

“Yeah, you really do, Stark.”

iii

Steve shifted from foot to foot in nervous anticipation. The gallery was about to open and he didn't know what to do with himself. All around him hung pieces he had painted, going back at least fifteen years to now. He could see the progression as he glanced at his work, smiling fondly at the canvases. Each piece was an extension of himself, a memory and feeling; some good, some terrible. He had all of them separated in categories. The earliest works were in the beginning, so that guest could walk farther in and see how his style and medium had changed over the years. Steve wiped sweaty hands on the pants of his nice tuxedo, trying to will away the heavy feeling in his gut. No one but his closest friends and, obviously teachers, had seen these. And there were a few that not even they had seen. In the back were the darker inspirations, created from his time in the Army, before those were the intermixed expressions of bliss and bitterness from his time in college.

Steve glanced at the clock just as the doors opened. He put on a smile and began greeting the guests. This wasn't exactly a cheap thing, the money going to several charities, though he agreed to do a last day for students at Shield Academy for free. All the men and women were dressed to the nines, excitedly talking about his work in Europe and when he would be back in the States for good. He was so focused on everyone else that when he caught sight of the brunette, he thought he was mistaken.

No, Steve swore, no one could mistake him.

He wore a black tux with a light blue bow and gold cuffs, hair flyaway and brown eyes fixed on Steve's. He carried an air of charisma and sophistication, never once taking his eyes away as he walked forward. Intent was clear in the way he walked and for a second Steve thought about bolting. Tony must've seen it in his face because his smirked, his stride becoming more relaxed.

“Hello, Steve,” he greeted warmly, taking him in up and down.

The blonde stared dumbstruck before clearing his throat and falling into himself. “Stark. I'm surprised to see you here.” Tony's eyes shifted at his last name, but the smirk never left. “Last I checked, you weren't into _art_.”

“I'm big into charities. Can never have enough of those.”

Steve quirked a brow and hummed. “Well, I hope you enjoy it.”

Before Tony could say anything else, the blonde slipped away in the crowd. The brunette growled to himself and snatched a glass off a waiter's tray. What he expected to be champagne turned out to be sparkling apple juice and Tony could feel a weird expression on his face. Across the room, Steve glanced back in time to see and snickered.

He couldn't believe that Stark was actually here. His stomach flip flopped and he mentally reminded himself that no matter how good the billionaire looked, he was probably still an arrogant ass and damn it, _he_ made Steve leave. The blonde shouldn't still feel like this, it'd been ten years! A small voice whispered to him that he'd always feel like this, though. Tony was the one. It would always hurt him to know that what could possibly be the best they ever had turned sour so quickly. No one else had made him feel like Tony did, inspired him like the genius.

“Oh shit,” Steve muttered to himself, hand rising to cover his face. He forgot the other pieces in the collection, the ones directly inspired by Tony Stark, who was here and maybe he wouldn't see them, he hated art after all. His flare of hope was crushed as Natasha's familiar perfume wafted over along with Clint's ridiculously strong cologne.

“Yup, he's in there right now.” Clint cheerfully chirped. Blue eyes peeked between fingers.

“How long do I have?”

Natasha looked back. “Two minutes, thirty five seconds.”

Steve was gone when she turned back around.

iv

The colours swirled from gold to red, a figure embossed in white and soft greys. It was vague, with very little facial details, more mechanical than human, but the eyes that looked back were brown and searing, all kinds of shades that he knew if he looked in a mirror right now he would see. The body was turned sideways, the gold and red painted to be melting off the metal man. One hand was raised, as if to stop whoever was looking at him, finger curled in a 'come here' gesture. It was titled 'Iron Man'.

The next one was of gears and a greasy rag lying on the floor of classroom workshop.

A messy dorm bed with a pair of Nikes tossed on the floor, and an AC/DC t shirt crumpled up next to it.

Tan hands, streaked black and holding a multitude of wires, with tools in the background.

It went on and on, covering all the walls. Simple paintings of simple things that weren't particularly impressive compared to Steve's other works, depictions of otherwordly beings and landscapes and Gods. To anyone else, these were just boring practice pieces, but to Tony, they were something entirely different.

He stared at each one, taking in the details, soaking them up and committing them to memory until he saw the last one.

It was titled 'The Older I Get' and was of their old dorm room. There were papers scattered on the desk, purple tinted glasses lying on top. One bed was made, the other had the blankets half falling off. Paint stained the floor, brushes in a neat pile near the foot of the made-up bed. A canvas was turned around, showing the beginning of the first showcase, the 'Iron Man'.

_What were you waiting for? This could've been the best we've ever had. The older I get, will I get over it? Spent way too long on the times we missed, I didn't know it would hurt like this_ was penned in the corner, next to a forgotten bottle of vodka and a knocked over chair. Tony looked down at the date; Steve painted this two years after they broke up.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. If he was to garner anything from this, then Steve was still, or at least had been, in love with him. A smile crossed his face. That was something he was very interested in.

Now just to find the little shit.

V

Steve had escaped outside in the back where there was a garden of sorts. He really should be inside, he knew, but he couldn't face Stark. Not right now. He knew the brunette would come find him, but he hoped he had some time to gather his thoughts and compose himself.

“You could have told me.”

Not enough time, Steve grimaced. “About?” He asked, turning around and leaning against the railing of the garden porch. Tony had his hands shoved in his pockets, stance casual and a bland look on his face. Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “That section? Seeing as I didn't expect you to come, I don't think I owe you a warning.”

“You don't owe me anything.” Tony snarked out, wincing afterwards and sighing. His shoulders hunched. “Why is it always like this? I came here to apologize to you.”

The blonde straightened a little. “You know how to apologize?”

“Wh-just because I don't doesn't mean I don't know how. Usually I’m not wrong.” Steve bit back a smile and kept his face serious. “I..I'm sorry about that night. You were right, you know. About everything, and I still didn't stop afterwards cause I thought you were coming back, but you _didn't_ and that made me drink more and I hated myself, but everyone _else_ knew where you were and what you were doing and – _the Army? Really?_ You hated the war talk, but-but I just, God, I finally woke up and grew up and I stopped thinking about you because I _missed_ you and I didn't think I’d ever see you again, but Bruce showed me the article and I knew I had to come and see you.”

Steve watched him take a breath and in three strides was in front of Tony and had his face in his hands, head bent down and lips covering lips. The brunette grasped his broad shoulders and clung to him. It wasn't spectacularly passionate, more chaste than anything else they ever did, but it was nice and Tony was pretty sure it was the best kiss he'd had since Steve left.

They pulled apart and Steve sighed. “I left that night and went to stay with Bucky, an old friend. He and I signed up the next month and three years later I went on my first tour. We were in the middle of packing up when we got ambushed. Five men, including me made it out. Bucky didn't.” He shuddered out a breath, “I was laying in that hospital bed and pretty sure I was going to die and couldn't help but think of you. I wanted to see you again.” He let go of Tony and moved back, running his hand through his hair. “When I recovered and came home, I thought about coming to visit you.”

“Why didn't you?” Tony asked, reaching out and pulling him closer by his lapels.

A wry smile painted his lips, “You were in Malibu with some actress.” Tony winced. He knew exactly who Steve was talking about.

“I'm not with any one now,” He said instead, brown eyes fixed on blue. “I haven't been in a while.”

“Tony...we had a pretty bad break. We clash, we always have. I don't want to-”

“Don't say you don't want me after kissing me.”

“I _do_ want you. I don't want the hurt if we fail again. I ran away to the Army to escape all those memories. Look at the gallery – in every single painting there's something about you. _Every one_ of them. I want you, I never _stopped_ wanting you.”

“Then give me another chance.” Callused hands traced his face and Steve felt himself weakening. “Please, Steve. It won't be like before.”

Blue eyes closed and Steve exhaled. He tried to reason with himself. This could turn out terrible, another disaster and god, Steve couldn't do that again.

_But what if it turns out wonderful?_

“Okay, Tony. Okay.” He nodded and opened his eyes to see a brilliant smile before Tony kissed him.

“Okay.” The billionaire said, reaching down and grabbing his hands.

From the garden doors, Natasha and Clint watched, sipping the real champagne. The redhead leaned against the door and smiled. “I'm going to call Bruce and let him know.” Clint said, tossing back his glass with a grin.

“Tell him to get ready for next week's dinner,” She replied, pushing herself off and walking with him.

In the background, Steve and Tony shared one more kiss.


End file.
